​Connecting Flight

Remember that weekendin January when the forecastermade good on his word,snowed three feetin New York, turnedthe backyard into a ski slope,streets into collapsing igloosand over eight thousand planesmourned the loss of wings,frozen and idle on the runway,and so you rescheduledwith hold music later, dismissingthe karmic bent of blizzardsand left Monday morning

Five hours later sitting in El Doradoas travelers traipsedin shorts and sandals,which you understood, geographically,but did not recognize your handsfolding away your own fleeceand boots

How still sixty-five degreesmade each body captivein its own intimate warmth,unacquainted with the frostthat kept you movingto another point on a screen

It would not be longbefore your connecting flightwould deliver youto a picture of retreat,an invite without promiseexpelled from a cryptic mouth

Remember how you said to yourself,please, you begged, pleasegive me a few minutesbefore I realizethat the smell of heartbreakis always spring